he smells of summer twilight
his eyes bird cadges trembling
with the weight of reality.

his voice is better then
oxygen
his finger tips are all the
gravity i need.

when i close my eyes
at night choking on plectrums
and the three chord songs he plays
I realise
i am yesterday
i am a gameshow
i am a can of fizzy pop in Friends
I DONT EXSIST.

i don't mind too much
until I realise

that one day
neither will he.